#i got mcdonalds for me and my mom and then spilled the coke over the table and i was already in a bad mood and didnt react and just stood th

[armandism]

not me crying because my fathers an asshole lmfao like whats new weve all known that

[camillemontespan]

oblivion [M! raleigh carrera] [part seven: lose yourself]

@emichelle​​ @ritachacha​​ @ibldw-main​​ @omgjasminesimone​​ @msjpuddleduck​​ @katedrakeohd​​ @lilmissperfectlyimperfect​​ @dailydoseofchoices​​ @pug-bitch​​ @moonlightgem7​

Warnings: NSFW. Mention of drug use. Master List

Marina slept for twelve hours after playing another video game with Raleigh. She had been exhausted; her eyes were shadowed and her body felt heavy and bone tired. Raleigh let her sleep, knowing she needed her rest.  While she was safe under her blankets, Raleigh looked up therapists in Michigan. 

He accepted now that Marina needed more help. It wasn’t enough for Raleigh to take her out of Los Angeles, out of her drug induced, champagne bubbled, drug addled bubble. He had taken her away from the place where she would be tempted but she was still the same girl with the same problems. Asking her to go cold turkey was too much; Raleigh could see that now. Marina needed professional help. 

Raleigh stayed up until 2am with his laptop open as he browsed for the therapist he could find. Rehab hadn’t worked for Marina; she had been a patient twice. But maybe a safe space where she could talk to a therapist about her issues and then retreat to Raleigh’s mom’s place would help? 

Overset with tiredness, Raleigh shut his laptop and rested his head in his hands. He needed to make this right. He had failed her before and he wouldn’t do it again. Right now, his only priority was getting Marina back to the person she was; or even if that wasn’t possible, he would try to bring hope and light back into her life when all she had known for so long was endless darkness.

*********************************

Raleigh arranged for Marina to attend a private therapy session. One to one with the therapist, Dr. Henderson, signing an NDA. 

On Monday morning, Raleigh supported Marina as she got herself dressed for the therapy session. ‘Is this okay?’ she asked, giving him a weak twirl.  She was wearing a blue and white fluffy sweater paired with blue ripped jeans and Converse. 

Raleigh thought she looked ridiculously cute and he really wanted to give her a hug. 

‘You look awesome,’ he told her simply. ‘You ready for this?’

Marina nodded mutely. ‘Nervous,’ she said. ‘But that’s understandable. I guess I just hope this therapist won’t tell the press about all my secrets ha!’ She forced the laugh out but Raleigh knew she wasn’t joking. 

‘She’s signed an NDA,’ Raleigh assured her. ‘She’s a professional anyway, Mari. She wants to help. It’s her job.’

Marina nodded, processing his words. Raleigh smiled softly and moved towards her to take her hands. 

‘I’ll be out in the waiting room,’ he whispered. ‘If it gets too much, I’ll be right outside.’

‘Guys, you ready to go?’ Raleigh’s mom called up the stairs. ‘Car’s ready!’

Raleigh took Marina’s hand and led her down the stairs to the car, making sure to bundle on scarves so no prying neighbours would see them. Marina’s privacy had been non-existent in LA; Raleigh wasn’t having a repeat of it again.

****************************************

The therapist’s office was empty, thank God. Marina could breathe easy that nobody would see her and recognise who she was. She was taken into the room immediately, leaving Raleigh in the waiting room. 

His eyes found the stack of magazines before he could tear his gaze away. Tabloids emblazoned with Marina’s image. Pictures of her looking worse for wear, like she was barely surviving in this dog eat dog world. 

Raleigh quickly picked up the magazines and shoved them in the trash can. 

**************************************

Marina played with the hem of her sweater as she sat in awkward silence. Dr Henderson was sat opposite her with her legs crossed and a notepad on her lap, pen poised. She was wearing cat eye shaped spectacles and her dark hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail. She looked friendly.

‘This is just a get to know you session’, Dr Henderson said gently. ‘Nothing too scary. Would you like some water?’

Marina took the glass of water and sipped the drink, her hands shaking as she did so.  

‘I’m here to help you,’ the therapist told her in a low voice. ‘There is no judgment here. This is a safe space-’

‘Because you signed the NDA,’ Marina interrupted, her voice startling even her.

The therapist smiled. ‘Yes, I did. But it would still be a safe space even if I hadn’t signed. Do you think I will tell everyone the confidential information you’ll give me?’

Marina shrugged. ‘No. You’re a professional,’ she said quietly, repeating what Raleigh had told her. ‘It’s your job.’

Her tone was reluctant, which the therapist noted.

‘Do you find it hard to trust people?’

Marina bit her lip. ‘No..’

‘Yet you think I will tell everyone everything that you say in this room?’

‘I’ve trusted people in the past and they have always thrown it back in my face,’ Marina told her. ‘I trusted people too easily and they took advantage.’

‘In what way?’

The words flooded out of Marina before she could stop them. 

‘Like we would go out to a bar and I would be the one left to pay the $500 bill. Or I would tell them I was seeing a guy and the next day, the papers would be talking about it. Or I had friends ask me for loans of money to keep themselves afloat, I couldn’t say no, but in the end, they would use that cash on drugs or alcohol.’

Marina looked down at her hands. ‘I’ve been chewed up and spat back out.’

The therapist made a note on her pad. ‘Your friend outside,’ she said. ‘Raleigh. Do you want to talk about him?’

Marina blushed. The therapist smiled. ‘Boyfriend?’

‘Something like that,’ Marina replied softly. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘How?’

‘We were bad for each other,’ Marina said. ‘But in the end, he is the one who is by my side when nobody else is. Everyone shows their true colours in the end; Raleigh has shown his.’

***************************************

An hour later, Marina came out of the therapists room. Raleigh stood up and gave her a smile; Marina smiled back, to his relief. 

‘I’m seeing her again next week,’ Marina told him. ‘That was just a get to know you session.’

Raleigh wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a kiss on top of her head. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘So fucking proud of you.’

They left the office together and back into Raleigh’s mom’s car. She had bought McDonalds as a treat and laughed as Raleigh and Marina tore into the brown paper bags.

‘It’s like you’re kids again!’ she laughed, shaking her head. ‘God, I should have got you Happy Meals!’

‘Happy Meals are fucking legit!’ Raleigh hollered with his mouth open. 

Marina giggled and sank her teeth into the burger. She hadn’t had McDonalds in years. Ever since she became famous, fast food was off the menu and replaced by protein shakes, Diet Coke and salad. As she swallowed the burger and made quick work of the fries, she realised that for the first time in what felt like forever, she was enjoying a meal. 

‘Jesus, ma, can we get some more?’ Raleigh asked after he finished his burger and screwed the paper bag into a ball. ‘I got money, I can buy us a truckload of McDonalds.’

‘Ooh and maybe a milkshake?’ Marina joked.

Raleigh looked at her, his mouth quirking up in the corner. ‘Yeah and a milkshake,’ he said. 

His mom shrugged. ‘If you want to get fat on McDonalds with your hard earned money, babe, by all means, be my guest.’

Raleigh let out a whoop. ‘Let’s go back!’

So that afternoon, Raleigh ordered two Happy Meals - who cared that they were adults?- and a milkshake. He gave Marina the milkshake, winking at her as he did so,and she sipped the thick strawberry milk, feeling lighter than air.

*****************************************

That night, Marina lay on the bed wearing one of Raleigh’s white vests and black lace underwear. Her dark hair was spilled out across the pillow and she was looking up at the ceiling as she listened to Raleigh singing under his breath.

He was lying on his front beside her with a journal in front of him. He was working on new lyrics, his writing an illegible mess of spidering words and crossing out. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he wrote and scored out, occasionally stopping to sing softly so he could test out his progress. 

‘What’s the song about?’ Marina asked, reaching out to stroke a lock of his hair through her finger. 

Raleigh bit his lip. ‘I can’t get it right..’

‘What’s it about?’ she repeated.

His eyes found hers. ‘You,’ he said softly.

Marina sat up in surprise. Raleigh looked sheepish. 

‘You’re writing about me?’ she asked, her eyes wide. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah…’ Raleigh admitted. ‘It’s not the first time.’

Marina blushed. There had always been rumours that his songs had been about her; Raleigh had never confirmed nor denied it. But now, she could see that it was true. 

‘What do you want to say about me?’ she asked.

‘Just how strong you are, how I lose myself when I’m with you,’ Raleigh said, looking down to pick at his fingernails. ‘I forget everything when I’m with you. Always have. Nothing matters in the world when we’re together.’

Marina could feel her heart beginning to beat a little bit faster. This was the Raleigh she knew that nobody else did. The Raleigh who was open and vulnerable; the Raleigh she had fallen in love with. 

‘I’m a mess,’ Marina said. ‘I bring you down-’

‘No you don’t,’ Raleigh cut in fiercely. ‘You are incredible. You are beautiful and strong with the most gorgeous soul-’

‘I am a trainwreck,’ Marina told him. ‘Disaster.’

‘So am I,’ Raleigh replied softly. ‘I’m not perfect either. Nobody is.’

Marina watched him as he abandoned his journal and crawled over the bed to her. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed against her cheek, trailing down to her jawline, to the collar bone, before kissing her chest. 

‘Raleigh..’ she whispered.

‘But you’re mine,’ he murmured, his warm breath tickling her skin. His fingers reached to pull up the vest she was wearing so he could gently kiss her stomach. His lips blazed a trail down her skin, brushing against the waistband of her lace boy shorts, making her jolt. 

Raleigh looked up at her with dark, hungry eyes. Marina smiled and reached for him; Raleigh’s hands caressed the back of her head as their lips met in an urgent, desperate kiss. 

Marina pulled off her vest and reached down to pull down her underwear. Raleigh discarded his clothes too before he stopped to study her. Slowly, his hands ran down her body, gently stroking her skin as he did so. 

‘What are you doing?’ she asked impatiently. She really wanted him, right now.

‘I’m losing myself in you,’ he murmured. 

He gently pulled her towards him so she settled on his lap; Marina wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him tightly. Raleigh bent down to kiss her cleavage, making her gasp his name. His fingers stroked her inner thigh before finding her centre.

Marina’s head fell into the crook of his neck. ‘Oh god..’

‘You are beautiful,’ Raleigh whispered, his fingers stroking her. ‘You are strong and powerful. You are the most amazing woman and don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.’

‘Raleigh-’

She let out a cry as she felt him enter her.  He filled her entirely, making her body jerk from the impact. Marina moved her hips against his, pulling a low groan from Raleigh’s throat. His hands gripped her hips as they gathered pace. 

‘You make me happy,’ Raleigh breathed in her ear. ‘You make me laugh.’

‘You- you make me happy too,’ Marina whispered, her breath catching. She kissed him hard, sinking into his taste of tobacco and burnt sugar. 

‘You’re my Marina,’ Raleigh groaned, increasing the pace. ‘Mine.’

‘But if you leave-’

‘I’m not fucking leaving you ever again,’ Raleigh interrupted, kissing her fiercely. His eyes were black now; black and wild. ‘You’ll always have me. I promise.’

No more words were needed after that. Raleigh and Marina lost themselves in each other. 

[pastelsandink]

Sasquatch

Whenever we used to visit my grandparents’ beautiful, gargantuan house in a place called Bras Island in South Carolina, Dad and I would put leashes on our dogs and walk along most of the river that ran behind the house. Usually it would be just before twilight, right as the sun was dipping down into the horizon like a shining cookie dunked in milk. Pink, orange, purple spilled over the horizon and bathed us in its ethereal regality. I remember I used to scour the place by the river where the land and water merged and I would search for different treasures left behind or lost by the creatures in the fathoms below. I would find shark teeth, mostly, but once or twice I excitedly ran back to my father to show him a completely intact crab’s claw. He would take it from my hands and examine it closely, then he’d compliment me on my find and put it inside a little Ziploc bag we’d brought along to store my little treasures.

Looking back on that time when saltwater stung my nostrils and my hands and knees were scraped up from the jagged rocks along the river, I mostly remember the sun setting, and the way the colors blurred together into a painting that Van Gogh could never dream of emulating. I believe that standing there, bathed in the paint of the sky, with my father holding my plastic bag of treasures in one hand and my hand in the other, was the most content I have ever felt. Sometimes I still close my eyes and imagine the wind running her fingers through my hair. Sometimes I imagine being content like that again. It doesn’t last long.

---

When my father told me he and my mother were getting a divorce, I had been eight years old, curled in bed with him, my eyelids drooping with sleepiness.

“What’s a divorce?” I asked in a low voice, trying not to alert the monsters in the dark of our presence.

“It’s when two people aren’t married anymore,” Dad said. “It’s when we stop being married.”

I don’t really remember what happened the day after that, or even several days after that, or hell, even the hours before I fell asleep, but I do remember that I cried so much that the monsters in the dark surely heard me. Maybe they pitied me and quietly left me to my misery. Maybe they tore at my skin and bone and I just haven’t seen the scars yet. I only sometimes believe those things, but there is something I believe all the time: as I cried myself to sleep, I believe my father stayed awake forever as the monsters wrapped their fingers around his neck and venom dripped into his ears. I think that was the night he really became one of them.

---

As soon as my mom started searching for another place to live, my dad and I got much closer. So close, in fact, that my constant begging for another dog finally got through to him, and one day he and I hopped into our car and we headed to Petco. Within a few hours we’d adopted a senior dog named Nikki--she was small and had short legs like a corgi, but I liked her because she was eight years old, like me. We all got into the car and drove her back home, and my brother and I were immediately smitten and showered Nikki with as much affection as a ten and eight-year-old possibly could. The possibility that our father was trying to buy our affection never really crossed my mind. My mother wasn’t happy that my dad had purchased a dog on a whim, and I think that he knew that she’d be upset. He wanted us to see her upset. And as much as my mother tried, we did, and a part of us resented her for it.

I was a weird kid. I’d always been a weird kid. I talked loudly, I talked too much, I couldn’t quite process all the math problems my teacher scribbled onto the board, and above all my parents were divorced in a Catholic school setting. No one had really liked me much beforehand, but the divorce was the switch that flipped and changed everything. I was falling backwards, praying that someone would catch me, and the only one who would was the cold concrete below. The rest of my peers watched me and did nothing--just smile and spit hateful things at me. Even my teachers started to treat me differently. I remember sitting in math class, scribbling multiplication and addition all across the pages of my notebook, and when my teacher peered over my shoulder she was furious. She yelled at me in front of the entire class and everyone watched, wide-eyed, as I got chewed up and spit back out again for not properly organizing my problems in my own notebook. Kids started taking things from me, whispering behind my back, and at church their parents would look us up and down with some mixture of disdain and pity.

“Ugly,” everyone in my class said about me. “Weirdo. No one will ever marry her,” and my teachers turned a blind eye to it all.

I was tall and lanky as a little girl, and I played a lot of sports. I was on the soccer, volleyball, and softball teams in my school all throughout the third grade. I never had much problem with the way I looked until Mia, a blonde girl who didn’t go to school with me but was on our softball team, looked me up and down and gave me, with dark body hair, big feet, and long legs, the nickname “Sasquatch.” I’d tell her to stop every day, all the time, every time we spoke.

“Whatever you say, Sasquatch,” she’d sneer. She never once called me by my real name. Mia found me revolting, like a piece of gum under a table that her hand just happened to brush. The rest of the team followed suit, and soon I couldn’t even enjoy softball anymore. One day, I got so fed up with her that I did exactly what I’d been taught to do when I was getting bullied: I went to one of our coaches and I told him that Mia was calling me Sasquatch. I demanded that he tell her to stop.

Our coach didn’t even look at me or Mia--he just barely turned towards her and said, “Mia, stop calling her Sasquatch,” and walked away. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look Mia gave me when he did. She only stopped at the end of the year, when my brother came up to her after a game and threatened her that he’d make her sorry if she called me anything but my name ever again.

Somehow, at school, a girl named Macy started hanging around me. Macy was hugely overweight, which wouldn’t have been a problem if she’d just kept her insecurities to herself, but for some reason she felt the need to tear me apart to make herself feel better. When I couldn’t go to girl scout meetings because of something my mother and I had to do, Macy would say in front of our entire troop, “It’s your own fault you couldn’t come,” and the leaders would let her do it. When I talked to her about things my parents did with me, like watch some TV shows or play certain games online, she said, “That’s weird. Why do they let you do that?”

“It’s not that weird,” I said. “They let us do it all the time.”

“Well,” Macy said, shaking her head in disapproval, “then I guess you weren’t raised right.” 

I begged my dad to do something. I begged him to call her parents and make her sorry. He just shook his head and gave me some long-winded talk that boiled down to “be the bigger person.” Every day after school I’d retreat upstairs, curl up in bed, and watch the same Star Wars movie over and over and over again as tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and all I’d get from him was “be the bigger person.”

“You just have to ignore her,” he said when I’d had a particularly bad day.

I found out, years later, that my dad had lied and told just about all of the parents at school that my mom had been unfaithful to him. To them, I was the product of a sin-ridden marriage. I was the equivalent of the antichrist to them. Maybe they thought I wasn’t even my dad’s.

---

One day, Dad and I were in the car on our way to the store when I asked him if I could have a sip of his giant foam gas station cup of Diet Coke. Usually the answer is always yes, so I didn’t wait for an answer and I leaned forward and sucked up a big gulp from the straw.

“Ah, wait--!” my dad said, but it was too late. A bitter, angry taste that wasn’t Diet Coke stung at the insides of my mouth like a swarm of bees. Acid and muddy water burned down my throat and I gagged and tried to wipe out the taste with a McDonald’s napkin with little success.

“What the heck is that?!” I asked, tears flooding my vision as the bitterness of the drink punched me in the gut.

Dad stopped at a red light, laughed at my reaction, and took the cup in his hand.

“It has rum in it,” he said. “You shouldn’t drink it.”

I didn’t know what rum was at the time and after that I didn’t care to find out. I couldn’t understand why my dad liked something that tasted so terrible. I remember how often after that I’d ask my dad if there was rum in his drink, just to see if I could have some. I remember how often he’d say “yes.” It was a lot. I stopped asking after a while.

---

Every time we visited my grandparents in their big, beautiful house, I noticed that my brother was getting treated much more nicely. My grandparents wanted us to sit at the dinner table for hours and hours after we ate to discuss politics I didn’t understand--like how socialism and communism were apparently the same thing, why immigrants were bad, or why gay marriage was disgraceful. I didn’t like being in one place for so long, let alone in a conversation where I couldn’t contribute, so I kept trying to excuse myself and go downstairs to play computer games on my grandfather’s desktop computer.

My grandma became annoyed with me and would shame me at the table--once again, in front of everyone--that I needed to spend less time on the computer and more time talking to people and being social. So for hours and hours after I’d already eaten, I sat at the outdoor dinner table, picking at my fingernails while my father and his parents talked about things I didn’t understand. When they talked about how terrible of a person my mom was, I was expected to keep my mouth shut and keep on picking at my nails. So I did.

My brother, Derek,  didn’t get the same treatment. He idolized my dad’s family, and would readily join in and try to contribute to political conversations he knew nothing about, talk trash on my mom every chance he could get. They ate it up. My grandmother needle-pointed custom designs on belts for my brother--it took a lot of time and money but Derek got three of them total over the course of the next few years. When he and I both asked my dad for something called a Pillow Pet, Derek got two and I never got any because my dad was “saving money.”

One day, I confronted my dad about feeling inadequate compared to Derek. I told him I thought that he and our grandparents treated Derek better than me. I told him that it hurt my feelings when they got angry with me for playing computer games. I told him I was insecure, and the word “Sasquatch” lingered in the back of my mind as I told him and I tried to push it away. I asked him for help. I don’t remember what Dad said to me after that, but that alone is answer enough.

---

Dad started to use guilt to manipulate me a lot. He did it in little ways, most of the time. One day I forgot my portfolio at home and he had to get it and drop it off at school for me. Later that night he had to drive me to a mandatory music event at my school--he didn’t even stay the whole program, either. He left and I texted him to come get me when event was over. When I got back in the car he shook his head at me.

“I wasted a lot of gas today,” he said, as if it was my fault that he couldn’t hold down a job or that my school required me to do something. But I felt an icy ball of guilt in my stomach regardless.

In the seventh grade, I wanted to go to a middle school mixer with one of my friends. My mom had already bought us the tickets, and my sister and I had splatter-painted some white t-shirts with neon paint for the occasion. My dad didn’t say that I couldn’t go, but he shook his head in disapproval because my older sister and brother had started to go to mixers when they were in the 8th grade, and he thought I was too young to go to a middle school gym and jump around like an idiot. I’d been planning on going for at least a month in advance.  Then my grandmother made a surprise visit that same weekend. I only found out a few days in advance. My dad expected me to drop my plans, throw away the money that the tickets cost, and spend the weekend with him and my grandmother. I put my foot down and, being the ungrateful grandchild I was, told him that I’d been planning this for weeks and I wasn’t going to drop everything for a visit I didn’t even know about.

“She does a lot for you,” my dad countered. “She came a long way to be with you, and you don’t even want to spend time with her.”

When we got home from school, my brother asked me what was wrong. My dad answered for me and said, “She’s mad because I won’t let her go to the mixer.” As if it were ever just about the mixer.

I didn’t say anything. I just clenched my fist and, at thirteen years old, I rearranged my whole itinerary that weekend to accommodate his whims and my own. I did end up going to the mixer, though. As the music screamed and the lights flashed, I danced like a fool, like a Sasquatch, and cursed my dad’s name so quietly that no one could hear it. 

---

My dad once told me that he had a dream about me. He dreamed that I was standing on top of a tall building with a bunch of other people, and that he was standing at the bottom with another bunch of people. He was yelling up towards me, trying to get me to come down, and perhaps I was yelling back but we were so far apart, and the noise of the people around him was so loud that he couldn’t hear me.

“Do you know what I think this means?” he said to me.

“What?” I asked, not really giving much of a damn in the first place.

“We need to communicate more,” he said. “There’s something that’s stopping us from talking like we should.” He took a sip out of the gas station cup he always had with him, his belly long since swollen with its contents. I pursed my lips and continued to not give a damn.

---

That same school year, I decided to live with my mom permanently. It happened slowly at first--I told my dad that I had a lot to do in the upcoming weekend, that I was going to stay at Mom’s and work everything out. He seemed disappointed but didn’t say anything. The next weekend I gave him the same excuse. And the next, and the next, until he got the idea. Once he did, he exploded at me.

He would send me long paragraphs upon paragraphs of text messages about how badly I was hurting him not coming over, what did he do to deserve this, he deserved an explanation. I’d try to slow these texts by getting dinner with him from time to time, but every time I saw him he would act pleasantly until he had to drop me off back at my mom’s, then he’d hug me and say something about not understanding why I was doing this, he missed me, he wanted to spend more time with me, and the ball of guilt in my stomach only got bigger.

I was determined, mostly due to the guilt in my stomach, to make our relationship work. When I got to high school I told him about my favorite teachers. I told him about the plays I was in and what dates we were performing. I told him about the music I was singing, the choir concerts I was involved in, and he’d smile and nod and say that he’d try to be there.

When he wasn’t there, at any of them, he sent me a long few text messages about how I’d never told him anything, why didn’t I invite him to my concerts, why didn’t I tell him when the musical was, why haven’t I told him about any of my teachers, and how much I was hurting him by “not wanting” him involved.

One night, I took the ball of guilt in my stomach and smashed it to pieces with my Sasquatch hands and feet. The shards burrowed into my skin but I didn’t care.

---

When I graduated from high school, I knew that I didn’t want my dad to be at the ceremony. Mostly because when my brother and sister graduated from high school, he had showed up late, sat where God and everyone could see him, then left as soon as the ceremony ended, among other things that just made my siblings’ graduations a living hell. I didn’t want that.

I told my dad that I had a limited number of tickets for graduation, which wasn’t a lie, but that my baccalaureate mass was free entry and that I’d love to see him there. He, once again, sent me some long text about how I never told him anything about myself (a lie) and how I never invited him to anything (a lie), and I quietly decided that I didn’t want him at baccalaureate if that was how he wanted it. I think from wherever he was at that moment he must have cupped his ears and leaned forward and, somehow, he heard my quiet decision, because in the weeks leading up to graduation he started to harass my siblings and I about it. They both chose sides--my sister insisted that I get our father a ticket. My brother assured me that he understood and that I was under no obligation to invite him to anything. Despite his assurances, I began to doubt myself as the day came closer. I could see disaster coming over the horizon, and more than once I almost begged my teachers for extra tickets just so I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore. I stayed up late into the night crying in my mother’s arms about it. But I held strong. I stopped responding to his text messages about it. He didn’t come to baccalaureate. I was relieved. My sister kept raising a stink about inviting him, but she was easy to ignore. I realized that I’d gotten what I wanted. This one time I was free. I felt my worry fall away and I enjoyed my last weeks of school, performed in my last musical, bought my cap and gown, and by the time graduation had rolled around I could have sworn I was feeling that same contentedness that I felt standing in the colors of the sunlight all those years ago.

I remember that my class and I had processed into the outdoor theater for the ceremony. I had shaved my Sasquatch legs only a few hours ago, and I walked to my seat with my head held high and a smile on my face. But when I sat down in my chair I saw him.

Dad had waited until the ceremony officially began, until the teachers had shuffled away from the doors to sneak in without a ticket. He stood off to the side, in a place where God and everyone could see him, watching me. Our eyes locked for a second before my head snapped forward and the shards of ice in my skin pulsated and screamed. I refused to look at him. I didn’t look at him when I got my diploma and he took photos of me. When the ceremony ended and we were free to mingle with our families I ran inside the school and hid from him.

I don’t know how he even found out what time graduation was. But somehow he did. He left without seeing me and I went home and cried.

---

I have always considered myself to be a good person. When friends come to me with problems, I listen. When someone asks me to do something, I do it. When I meet someone new I smile and shake their hand and say that it’s nice to meet them. I never really understood why the universe was so intent on striking me down like wild game on the run, but if I complained I did it quietly and in solitude, with only one other person at most to hear. Not this time.

The summer before I left for college, Dad blackmailed me. He sent me the longest paragraph of text yet at midnight when I was on a Skype call with a friend. He told me how terrible I was to not invite him to graduation, and did I think he was stupid? Did I think he didn’t see through my excuse that I didn’t have enough tickets? He said that he’d been talking to my grandparents about my college fund, something they’d set up for me since before I was even born, that gave me a hefty amount of money per semester, that I was really relying on to actually go to school. He told me that if I didn’t step up and fix things, if I didn’t want to “be apart of this family,” then he would dissolve the fund.

I remember reading that text, and I told my friend on the Skype call that I was going to the bathroom. I staggered through the kitchen, into the bathroom, and every part of me shattered into pieces. I was crying on the bathroom floor, head resting on the toilet seat, praying I wouldn’t vomit with anxiety, and my heart was beating so loudly and so fast I could barely hear my own sobbing over the pounding in my chest. I went into my mother’s room and cried into her chest, and she was so rotten with rage that all she could do was hold me close and tell me that nothing was going to happen, that he couldn’t legally do anything to me. When my brother found out, he called my dad and screamed at him over the phone, “You just made the biggest mistake of your fucking life.” My dad just avoided the subject and acted like he had no choice, like blackmailing me was the only thing he could do, like it was for my own good.

He still hasn’t apologized.

---

I remember this mockumentary I saw when I was a kid--it was about this woman and her encounter with a Sasquatch in the forest. The movie ended with her hearing violent noises outside of her cabin, and when she walked outside she was horrified to see that her assistant had been brutally slain by the Sasquatch. I thought of myself, and my hair arms and legs, and I thought about what it took to drive the creature to kill that man. I thought about what could push someone to the limit. I thought about what could push me to my limits.

“I could kill him,” my mom says every time the subject of my dad comes up. “Swear to God, I could just take a gun and shoot him in the head.”

I pick at my nails and think of myself and for the first time I wonder if I’m the man and my dad is the Sasquatch. For the first time in my life, the name isn’t mine anymore.

[lexandjustine-blog]

Heyo 🎶,

I think I’m going to start putting emojis on the top to signify what I’m writing about. Since I’m using a music note emoji, of course this post is going to be about music.

Last weekend, Lex’s mother surprised us with tickets to go see Incognito with Spyro Gyra headlining. For all of you non-jazz fans, Incognito and Spyro Gyra are talented jazz bands. Incognito is known for their songs “Deep Waters” and “Nights Over Egypt”. Spyro Gyra is known for their song, “Morning Dance”. 

I was really worried that I wouldn’t have a good time because I have the attention span of a 4 year old. I thought I was going to get bored and believe me, I had the time of my life. Let’s start with the beginning of the concert. Nah, swerve, let’s start with the beginning of the day.

Our day started when we went to the gym for the first time in like a month. That was my fault tho (I kept stalling 😓).So we exercised for a good 20 minutes and decided to reward ourselves with McDonald’s. Tbh, when you type it, it really sounds like a stupid idea and makes us look fat but I don’t regret it all. Afterwards I had to bum rush home to gather my stuff so I can change at his house. We started getting ready and then his grandmother comes along. Now mind you she wasn’t invited because she doesn’t really listen to this type of stuff. There are other reasons but I’ll leave that alone 😏. Don’t get me wrong, she’s cute as a button and I have nothing against her, it just was a lot of walking and the music would’ve been too loud and to save a headache she was left at home. Going back to me getting ready, as I was going upstairs I was l greeted by her since she was sleep earlier. She was saying how we didn’t invite her and she’s gonna jump on my back and come anyway (awkward much?👀). I just stood there like a mannequin because literally what am I suppose to say to that?

I slowly walked to Lex’s room to go change and get ready. He later told me that she was really salty about not coming. Back to me getting ready though, I thought I was cute. I had on heels, makeup, and my favorite perfume. I was ready to snatch a father…I mean Lex. So we got there and tell me why it started raining? I’m like my edges! So I’m wobbling in my heels, my inhaler in my hand, running towards the door. It was the struggle. We got there and the venue was nice. We got to our seats and we then found out that there was a bar. I can’t drink but Lex can (wink wink 😉). So we got to the bar and Lex didn’t know what he wanted. So we awkwardly stood there for like 20 seconds and then this dude orders a Cuban Mojito. I didn’t even know what that was and the bartender, who was like 8 months pregnant, didn’t either. So I’m looking at him and he looking at me. I asked him what did he have a taste for and he didn’t know. I see why men get irritated when asking their girl what do they want to eat because I was two seconds from frowning.

I finally got impatient and I’m like he’ll get a Long Island. Now my brain said Rum N’ Coke but my mouth said Long Island. My brain did not remind me that there is like 7 different liquors in that drink. One sip and the night would’ve went completely wrong. We’re walking to our seats, I’m calling myself every name in the book. So he said it was good when we left. When he got to our seats he wants to say it tastes like medicine…BOY!!!! I’m not going to even tell y’all how much this drink was because y’all about to think I’m crazy but just know it was a lot. I tell his mom that we’re going to take it back and she tells me to order him a Shirley Temple. Ma’am what? I said bump that, he’s not getting that. So we bring it back and I tell the bar tender to make him a Rum N’ Coke but go light on the rum because he’s a baby (he got mad at me for that 😂)  . So he got his drink and things were peachy again. We sat down and enjoyed this amazing show.

Now let me tell you about this show. It was FANTASTIC. One of the members from Spyro Gyra was speaking Spanish. His name was Julio and he was Cuban. If he wasn’t old, I would’ve snatched him and put him in my clutch for later. Both bands were amazing so buy their music on iTunes (could’ve said SoundCloud 😉). During intermission me and Lex danced outside of the venue to background jazz music playing from the venue’s exterior speakers. It was so romantic, even the valet people were watching. Then we started doing trust falls, which ended in no fatalities (hooray! 🎉). I couldn’t have asked for a better time.

The night ended with some delicious barbecue from this place called Slow’s located in Pontiac, Michigan. I ate too much to be honest. I really wish I could rewind back to that night because that was a wonderful experience. I’m grateful we have another opportunity to see another concert that I will definitely spill the beans on. Until then…

Ciao

PS: Grandma is still salty.

~ Justine 💋